Drunk
by Wannabe Detective M
Summary: The night Sherlock saw the Hound, he admitted that he was full of fear. He was so afraid that he was drunk by the time John came back to get him! One-shot. Rated T for language.


It was an absolute failure. Trying to flirt and get information from Dr. Mortimer was absolutely awful. John was completely humiliated by the fact that he even tried, curse the world for having beautiful women, and curse his male impulse to charge after them every chance he could.

_I am a fool_, John thought. _I am a fucking fool._

John got up from the table and headed toward his motel room. It wasn't a double-room, so there was just a huge bed there. Luckily, Sherlock didn't sleep very often, so John got the bed to himself for long moments until it got late enough that Sherlock decided to sleep. By then, John didn't even notice until it was morning.

Speaking of Sherlock, as John entered the room, he didn't find him. It was almost midnight, and Sherlock was usually back by now. Was he still back at the cafe? He was pretty wound up when John had left. John put some of his things down, then left the room to go look for his missing companion.

That's when Billy showed up to John.

"Oh, Billy," John said. "What are you doing? It's getting late, isn't it?"

"I was actually looking for you," he said. "We have a bit of a situation, and we need you to come down there."

Oh God, John thought, what did Sherlock do this time? John followed Billy across back to the restaurant, where it was almost empty due to the time of night. Gary was there, standing over a man who had his head on the table, his arm stretched over it, holding a drink.

"Oh, no," John mumbled. This could not be happening. Had Sherlock been so upset that he got drunk? It was so unlike him that John hoped that he hadn't gone so far as to drink so much.

"Ah, there you are," said Gary. "Your friend might have had one too many, if you know what I mean."

"He's a little upset," John explained, shaking Sherlock's shoulders. "Sherlock. You alright? You wanna go back to the-" Sherlock's head immediately shot up, and he stared at John.

"You..." Sherlock got up, all wobbly and unbalanced, his words slurred. "You lied to me!"

"Lied to you?" John asked. "Come on Sherlock. I have no time for this." John tried to get Sherlock's arm around his shoulder, but the drunk bastard was so stubborn.

"What're you- what're you doin'?" Sherlock said. "I'm not even *hic* that drunk." John rolled his eyes and sighed, practically dragging Sherlock out of the restaurant and back to the room.

As if John wasn't humiliated enough for failing with Dr. Mortimer, now he had to drag his drunk friend back to their room. It was going to be a rough night for the two of them.

"Jawwwwn," Sherlock said as he was being taken back to the room. "Jawn, where are you? I'm being taken away by the police! Jawn! JAWN!"

"Shut up, Sherlock!" John had to tell Sherlock. "Just shut the fuck up!"

"You shut the...*hic* You shut the fuck up! You're not the boss of me! *hic*"

John fumbled with the keys, trying to control Sherlock like he was a small, active child who would most likely wander off if you weren't looking. Once he got into the room, he took Sherlock by his shirt and pushed him in. By that time, Sherlock was lost in a fit of laughter, wobbling and falling to his knees, sinking his head and arms into the bed.

"Oh God," John muttered under his breath. "Come on, Sherlock, let's get you in bed before you-" But before John could even touch him, Sherlock smacked his hand away, almost as if he was mad, but then began to laugh again. John became aggravated at this point. He was tired of putting up with this.

"God dammit, Sherlock!" he almost shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you? This is so unlike you! Are you that scared, Sherlock? Are you that upset and freaked out that you've been driven to getting drunk? Jesus! You never think that I'm the only one who has to deal with you here! You know what, Sherlock? I'm just sick and tired of dealing with you and your insanity in general! I never thought you'd stoop this low, Sherlock, I really didn't. Jesus, no wonder you say you have no friends. I mean, who the fuck would want to deal with-"

That's when John stopped. Sherlock was so drunk, but he understood the yelling; he still had some sense of reality, and looked at John with distress and sadness.

"You're right," said Sherlock. "I'm...*hic* I'm a horrible person. No wonder you hate me." Sherlock then started uncontrollably sobbing, tears running down his face as he sniveled and whimpered. "No wonder... Everyone hates me anyhow. I'm so alone!"

John didn't know whether to be serious or take this as an act of his drunken mind. But then he remembered what Sherlock had said about friends. "I don't have friends," he had said. And when John thought about it, he really didn't. His only friend was... John. John sighed.

"Alright, you drunken bastard," John said, crouching down to Sherlock's level and getting his friend onto the bed. "Just try to sleep it off, alright? You'll be worse in the morning." John took the sheets and covered Sherlock, who became surprisingly and suddenly cooperative, and patted his shoulders. John sat on the other side of the bed listening to Sherlock's drunk drabble for about an hour.

"...and all...*hic*...this stuff is going on, and the next thing you know...BAM! He's...*hic* he's dead. And...and...mmm..."

John looked over to find that Sherlock had fallen asleep. John smiled, relieved that he could put drunk Sherlock behind him. He got under the sheets and fell asleep for the few hours he had left until morning.

Sherlock wasn't a snorer, no; he wasn't even much of a sleeper. John actually enjoyed that Sherlock was a sound sleeper, barely moved, almost like he was dead. It was so peaceful; when John couldn't find any sleep, he would look over to Sherlock, see his face, so calm and so peaceful, and be inspired to fall asleep.

* * *

The sound of moaning woke John up early the next morning. Being aware of what was happening, John got up from the bed and got a glass of water for his friend, putting an aspirin in it for him, then setting it on the bedside table.

"Morning," John said.

"I feel awful, John," Sherlock groaned. "What the hell did you do to me? Drug me?"

"You got drunk, Sherlock."

"I don't think so. Oh, aspirin. Thank you." Sherlock took the glass, the aspirin fully dissolved, and drank half of it before looking at John, who seemed irritated.

"How did it go with-" Sherlock tried to say.

"No, Sherlock," John interrupted. "Just...no. Don't mention it. Just..."

"Did I say something that upset you? Do something? What?"

"No, Sherlock, you're alright." John looked over to the window and smiled, because the sun was peeking through the blinds. Sherlock also looked at the window, then at John, then knew exactly what he was going to do.

"John," said Sherlock, "don't you dare. Don't you-"

Too late. John went over to the window and opened the blinds, letting the sun in, irritating Sherlock's hungover head. Sherlock hissed like a cat and hid under the covers.

"Get over it," John said. "You have a case to solve, and-"

Sherlock gasped, ripping off the covers, still irritated by the sun,but not as much.

"That's right!" he said. "I have to go." Sherlock sprang out of the bed and quickly got changed, then ran out the door with one message: to meet him at the cemetery in under an hour.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello! Sorry for the really long one-shot of Sherlock. This came to me, and I wanted to see how people would react to it. I dunno. **

**I've been not as motivated to write Fanfiction lately, and I had someone basically derail "A Rose by Another Name" recently, and she didn't mean to offend me, but it really shattered me to pieces and made me feel stupid. Luckily, I pulled myself together and wrote a one-shot. **

**More stories hopefully to come your way. See you around! **

**- Detective M. **


End file.
